WHTRJ? Revamp Ep 1: Roommates
by Kartoonfanatic
Summary: Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? Revamp Ep. 1. Mom and Dad units get a letter from Mr. Jones' close old robot assistant, Jack. After years in Japan, he's returning to the U.S., and Robot's parents open their house to him, oblivious to Robot's dismay. Now he'll have to survive living with an bigger, order, obnoxious unit that treats him like a dork. The series continues!
1. Salutations From An Old Friend

**Delaware:October 1985**

Timothy Morton was running for his life.

His heart was pumping. He could hear the pulse in his ear. Under his thick, frizzy blond curls, a pool of sweat was collecting on the back of his neck. It was a warm fall afternoon, and his skin was moist under his mint cotton sweater and hunter green jacket. His cheeks were pink and hot, and in his size-eight and a half sneakers, his feet were suffocating.

He was an athlete—a basketball player. Not like he was on the track team or anything. He was also in P.E. Monday through Friday, so was used to a little running, but not like this—nonstop, intense, as fast as he could push himself. His ankles ached with every flex of his foot on the pavement. His lungs worked twice as hard to keep up with the demand for oxygen.

Down the middle of a street, he turned into a publicly abused, private narrow gangway between two houses, hopping a tiny gate with a small rusted **Beware Of Dog** sign that hadn't been truthful for at least fifteen years. Quickly slipping through the backyard without being noticed, he jumped another gate into the middle of an alley, scrambled to the right down the tremendously cracked cobblestone road, hitting the t-shaped fork of the street and running left alongside a garage until he hit the beginning of another sidewalk, and made a sharp left.

All along, he was filled with dread and propelled forward by the knowledge that_ he_ was right over his shoulder. Tim didn't know what kind of damage the inhuman creature could do to a person like him, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

He ran.

As far and as fast as he could. In the early sun set, little thin cotton clouds scattered in the baby blue sky overhead, pink on top and purple underneath. Over streets and rolling sidewalks, he ran, with only a little breeze at his back to help move him forward—hardly enough to rustle a yellow leaf from a tree branch. When the pavements were severely broken, he jumped or veered onto the green lawns before the fenceless houses. Sometimes he forgot to switch back until he hit an obstacle in the yards.

Big mistake.

Tim knew these streets like the back of his hand. He grew up on them. He crossed on them on his bike every summer and weekend for as long as he could remember. And yet, in his terror filled shortcut into a less traveled portion of the neighborhood, he took the wrong route, winding up on the worst possible street he could be on. Ignoring the green street signs, he thought he instinctively knew where to go.

Unfortunately, the realization hit him at the last minute, as he finally recognized the houses and the cars and the distinct awkward incline of the laws and sidewalk. But by then, it was too late to turn around. He had already entered the danger zone, and now, smack in the middle of a little, average suburban block, the unmistakable, steel, two story cube shaped residence was standing over him, casting its shadow on his face.

Timothy stuck out his left foot and skid to a halt, digging his heels into the grass yard. But he was too late. He stopped right in front of the metal building, mere feet from the front entrance.

He froze, panting softly, too afraid to move, sensing that any second now that his pursuer would make his appearance.

He sensed right.

"Foolish human," he soon heard from behind.

Tim reluctantly turned around and face the mechanical creature that had called him out in that emotionless voice.

There the automaton stood, on the corner of the lawn, with his back to the setting sun. His front side darkened, surrounded by the pale blue sky background and thin clouds. His enormous, strikingly bright eyes, the lids lowered halfway down in a cold stare, penetrated the dark ovals, hooked together like a mask around them, with his shadow trailing under his feet and behind like a great, black cape. The intimidation of his steely presence was not corrupted by the fact that he stood just under four feet tall.

In his morbidly stern tone, the robot make clear his intentions, his eyes pulsating to dark with every syllable. "You have trapped yourself within my personal domain."

Tim shivered like a leaf. Fearing the eminent, he fell to his knees for mercy. In stiff, exact steps, the robot marched forward like the hardest soldier in the world. "Now your time has expired."

The quaking human could only bare one last look up as the robot raised his arm with a mechanical groan, and firmly pressed the tips of two of his his black rubber fingers to the center of his hairline to hold him in place.

"Game over... _friend_."

Defeated, the human through his arms up over his head in a helpless last attempt to protect himself.

But instead of the distinct sound of a laser coming to his swift pain and doom, what the human heard was a brief, deep voiced giggle, then more silence. Before long, thought, there was more, terribly muffled, computerized laughter, and Tim felt was the heavy, rubber digits lift from the top of his head, followed by the sound of heavy steel crashing to the ground.

Curious, the confused human boy slowly opened his eyes and brought down his hands. The robot, who had just a moment ago been looming over him in a still, cold stance and a menacing expression, had suddenly gotten himself into a giggling-fit, wrapping his thin, metal arms over his little red and black chassis, at some point falling down and rolling around his own open front lawn like a dog. All essence of robotic danger had vanished right before the boy's eyes, and what remained of the lethal, artificial life form was a friendly, fun-loving little teenager with a heart most certainly softer than steel.

"Socks unit!" the automaton managed to gasp in between chuckles, the front of his head now caught under the sunlight. There was a small sparkle off the sharp corner of his wide-grinning face, and there was nothing whatsoever now about his expression that looked slightly capable of doing harm, let alone the human's graphic annihilation. "You ought to see your face! Like you believed I was actually going to blast you or something!"

Timothy, or as the robot called him by his official nickname, Socks, made a face, lowered his right eyelid. But it was impossible for him not to eventually grin, at the scene of his buddy, the tiny, innocent automaton, stuck in such a fit of laughter that was rare, even for his best friend, to be witness to. "You are something, Robot Jones."

Robot cracked open his eyes, still smiling. "You... didn't actually think..."

"Naw! Are you kiddin'?" Socks tossed his hand and rolled his eyes. "... But I admit, you _almost _had me going there for a second."

"What can I say?" Robot shrugged. "I had a lot of time to practice."

Of course there was no real danger involved. It was all just pretend—part of a little game Robot and Socks had been playing for some time now. In retrospect, they might have admitted that it was a bit immature for kids their age, and even more so, a little out of taste considering Robot's condition of being an actual robot with uncertain, unmeasured abilities to destroy and injur—thankfully, to that date, the automaton, nor his dangerously inept parental units had never come close enough to accidentally doing real harm to anybody.

But the game gave the boys the chance to experiment with their top secret, super alter egos: Socks, the handsome, rugged, street crime fighter, and Robot, the merciless, feared urban evildoer, with a distinct hateful resentment of human beings.

Socks could easily dream of becoming his alter ego in real life. Flexing his biceps, rescuing the innocent, saving the day, impressing the ladies, but Robot didn't play the bad guy just to give Socks someone to fight. Robot _wanted _to be the bad guy. In truth, as behaved as he was, Robot's record was not spotless. Like every normal boy, he was susceptible to a misdeed ever now and again. And he wasn't necessarily always tricked into trouble by his enemies. Every so often, his impulse to cause trouble was driven someway or another by his social frustration. From getting sweet-talked into helping kids cheat on their history tests, to seeking revenge and flooding the boy's locker room with hair removal cream, Robot desire to fit in and be accepted had given him the reputation of being a smart-alak miscreant, rather than a goody two shoes—thought it's wasn't like he'd want to be known for that, either. And pretending to be bad in a stupid game of pretend, imaging himself for a moment as this figure of domination and vicious crime was another small way Robot coped with his unpopularity. But even as he played the hated and feared villain in their games, the little automaton was no more evil at his core than the common, mischievous little boy. And in the end, he was typically nicer and better mannered.

Soon, Robot's crippling condition passed. His chuckles ceased, and he managed to sit up just as a little white mail truck drove up to his curb for a late, afternoon drop off. While the Joneses did receive most of their mail via computer, they relied on the postage service to deliver more personal letters and notices.

A light brown haired man with a matching mustache hopped out of the truck with a bundle of envelopes and a friendly smile.

"Here comes the new mailman," Robot told Socks as the human helped pull him to his feet.

The scrawny man in postal blue half-mindedly made his way up the front walk, stopping just before he collided with the short robot. "Jones residence?" the mailman inquired, reading off of one of the envelopes.

"You are correct, sir," Robot replied.

"Here ya go, son," the human handed him the stack of letters with a smile, "Nice to meet you."

Without so much as the bat of an eye, the mailman hummed the way back to his truck. It wasn't until he was about to hop into the seat, his foot on the floor of the truck, that he stopped, turned around, and got a real look the child whom he had just given the mail to.

Stuck nervous by the attention, Robot smiled and made a mechanically stiff wave.

"AHHHHH!"

The postman screamed, throwing him self into the front seat. Moments later, the truck was screeching away from the steel home and down the road, passing over a block of houses.

Socks looked at the unmoved Robot with a strange expression. "Weird. I didn't know that you were still getting that kind of reaction from people. Just curious, how many mailmen have you guys been through since you moved here?"

Robot sighed. "Seventeen," he shook his head, "But I think I can assume it will be eighteen by tomorrow."

"What'cha get?"

Robot thumbed through the stack of mail in his claws, reading the return addresses and pacing about the yard.

"Charity, charity," he tossed the junk mail over his shoulder, "Electric solicitation charity, miscellaneous-"

With one large envelope in his hands, he stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly going quiet. Socks peered over at his best friend with concern."What?"

Robot didn't reply. He marched right up to his front door and pushed the 'in' button, and waited for the door to fly up. "Dad unit," he hollered inside from the doorway, "We've received another letter from Jack."

Before long, Robot's father rolled up to the doorway. Robot held out the envelope, which he snatched from him with an eagerness that made Robot scowl, and he neatly tore open the seal with his metal fingers. Inside was a telegram-style typed personal letter, and a smaller envelope which Mr. Jones dropped on the ground.

"Confirmed. Processing correspondence of unit: Jack," the elder robot said aloud.

"Jack?" Socks asked Robot. "You mean that Jack I heard about that used to work for your dad?"

"Affirmative," his metallic friend replied. "Jack was my father's robotic assistant when he was still just a factory droid. He left years ago to work and take private classes in Japan."

Robot picked up the smaller envelope that his father had dropped and tore it open.

"He has been away for quite some time, and keeps my parents updated via letters," he pulled out several small cards and what looked like a class photograph. "And from the looks of it, I would say he just graduated."

Both boys peered at the photo while Mrs. Jones appeared in the doorway. "Was that the mail delivery vehicle my sensors detected?" she asked.

"Yes," Robot replied, "And Jack has just sent us another letter. It appears he has completed his twelfth grade level of education."

He showed her Jack's tiny class picture, while Socks sifted through the various cards and sticky notes that were also in the envelope. "_Dang_," he sighed. "High school's gotta be awesome in Japan. Look at all the friends he made. They all sighed their name on one of these with a little goodbye message to him. How much you wanna bet some of these signatures belong to some real cute Japanese girls, too?"

"Excellent," said Robot's mother. "Jack's current task is complete."

"Sounds like he has been enjoying himself, as well," Robot added, rolling his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

"_Pffff_, I'll say!" said Socks, leaning over Robot's shoulder to see the picture.

"Proposal confirmed," said Mr. Jones, finished reading the letter. "Answer is: Yes."

"What'd he say?" Robot asked his dad.

"Jack has finished his high school learning objective. GPA is 4.0. Class rank: 1 of 129."

"_Whooo_!" Socks tossed his head back and whistled. "Ace of the class."

"What else?" asked Robot.

Without normal eyes for her to see with, Mr. Jones handed the letter for his wife to scan with her red camera-sensor bulb. "Hmm, Jack has been offered a scholarship to an exclusive finishing school in the Japanese countryside... "

"Of course he has... " Robot shook his head to his human friend, who was melting with depression, his hands slapping against his face.

"... To which he has..." Mrs. Jones lowered the letter from her face, "... denied."

""_What_?"" both Socks and Robot exclaimed, with a comic style bubble illustration of the word.

"Instead, he wishes to return home and take community college courses in the United States."

"But why?" asked Socks. "What for?"

"Maybe he is homesick," suggested Robot. "Jack has spent the better half of his existence working in a foreign country. Perhaps he just misses the United States. "

"Or maybe the babes and the scenery weren't enough," Socks mumbled under his breath.

Robot turned to his dad. "But... you are not actually letting him go through with this, are you?"

Robot understood the unique relationship between Jack and his father. The one-of-a kind, parentless robot had served Mr. Jones years before Robot was even built. In return for his help, Mr. Jones took the younger robot under his wing, so to speak, and they became pretty close. Years after being relocated to Japan, Jack continued to report back to the Joneses often—going a little too much into detail about his personal accomplishments, at least for Robot's approval. Though their connection was mostly professional, Jack had always taken orders from Robot's father, and he relied on Mr. Jones, the older and wiser automaton who held one of the highest robotic positions of power in the company, to make decisions for his benefit. It was only because of those conditions that Robot figured he might have say in the Jack's decisions, or maybe even forbid him from something so drastic such as this.

"Jack is not under our authority," his father replied. "He is now an adult-free to do as he wishes."

"Then what proposal have you agreed to?"

"He inquired in his letter about possible living arrangements," said Mrs. Jones, "Because he would like to stay close to work so that he may lend a hand at the factory, it only seemed logical that he take boarding in the house."

Robot's shoulders went limp, and his frown curled downward erratically. "Wha-you mean _our _house? _Here_?"

"Whoa," Socks said. "Japan 'bot's coming? Sweet!"

"It will be delightful to see him again, after all this time," noted Mrs. Jones. "And we could certainly use his help around the house."

"But..." Robot started, but didn't finish, confused of why he felt compelled to object in the first place.

He supposed it was reasonable, after all. Robot got behind many parts of the housework and he knew what a big chore it was to keep the house in order, so he couldn't argue with his mother there. But still, there was something about this swift arrangement that didn't sit easy with him. With his mother and father gathered around the letter in chatter, he was frozen, off to the side, gazing into space and thinking the hardest he ever thought about Jack, the unit Robot only really knew by name.

The older robot that apprenticed his father had been gone for so long, he almost seemed like a figment of Robot's young imagination. Jack lived with the Joneses at the factory almost thirteen years ago, when Robot was a very, very new prototype, and still a little crude in his developmental evolution. Back then, Robot's eyes were pretty poor, certainly not as superior as they were now. And while the little automaton used to think he had crystal clear memory, it was only recently that Robot had struggled to remember things about his early childhood. The picture of Jack was just about there, but Robot's memories of him were faint.

Now the older robot was on his way home After all these years, that one quirky little unit that only existed as a ghost in Robot's earliest memory banks was going to make a re-apperance,

Suddenly, Robot felt a pressure on his shoulder. He turned his head to find a human hand sitting at the top of his arm.

"You okay, robot?" asked Socks, noticing how quiet Robot had suddenly gotten.

"It's just a little shocking, I suppose," replied Robot in his ungiving monotone, "Thirteen years..."

Robot would finally meet this mysterious robot that took over his parents conversation every now and again. That machine behind the boasting letters would finally be something tangible to him.

"Yeah, and he's moving into _your_ house," Socks reminded him.

"Yes..." Robot said, his blank expression slowly melting into a look of concern.

It couldn't be that much different, right? No biggie.

* * *

At Polyneux Middle School, the group of Socks, Mitch, Cubey and Robot were known—if they were _ever_ noticed, that is—for being the unproclaimed outcasts of the seventh grade. Throughout their school history, Socks, Mitch and Cubey were never popular with the teachers for their grades, the guys for their athletic or comedic talent, or the girls for their charm. But they didn't let that hinder their fun. The boys, and the newest addition to their gang, Robot, did a lot together outside of school. Going to the theater to make jokes about a bad movie, the arcade to play the same video games until the buttons wore out under their fingers, or when they were broke, the park for a little catch football.

While Mitch and Cubey had a longstanding, close friendship that made them nearly inseparable, Robot and Socks hung out a lot together, too. As the one who first properly introduced Robot to the group, Socks had soon developed a different bond with him from Mitch and Cubey. He not only did his part to look out for Robot, but felt, in a way, responsible for teaching him the ins and outs of school and life in general—which he clearly needed help to understand—and exposing him to new fun and experiences.

Another Friday, and another precious weekend was upon the thirteen year olds again. Before leaving the Jones house, Socks asked if Robot might want to sleep over at his house. He was genuinely fond of the polite automaton's company, and it was a good opportunity for the only child to get out of his house.

Besides, Socks sort of picked up the feeling that Robot might have really liked to get away that night, anyway.

At the Morton's house, Socks took the room above the garage. It was kind of cramped—when he didn't pick up the floor and let the clothes pile up, anyways. But it had a kind of cozy feeling to it, and Robot enjoyed it, even though he was used to his big, empty, uncluttered room at home.

Before bed, they would chat, and although occasionally the conversations had their awkward moments, as did most of Robot's human interfaces, the automaton found great comfort in Socks' confidence. They talked about school or parents or girls or something else Robot, frankly, only felt comfortable talking about with Socks, as his best friend was the one human whom he could trust to guard his secrets. And Robot had just as many secrets as any other boy, and even a few more.

His plug in the bedside outlet, Robot sat on the floor in the narrow space between the left of Socks' bed and the sliding closet, on a makeshift bed of blankets, his back propped up by a pillow against Socks' nightstand, while he and his best friend had magazines pulled up to their faces.

Their conversation went about as normal, but that night in particular, there was one thing that was bugging Socks the entire time—his buddy. Even with his face behind the auto body magazine, the human sensed that something was bothering Robot. His sentences were short, and if Socks could pick up a just noticeable change in his monotone, even tense. And he seem to used the magazine as a way of avoiding all eye contact—something very unlike Robot Jones to do.

It was also strange, his friend observed, if he had a problem, to become so reserved. Usually, he spilled his troubles like a tipped milk carton at the first person who would listen. But even if he wouldn't say, Socks thought he may have had a wild guess what on that day could have put Robot in such a funk.

Which should have given him all the more reason to avoid bringing it up.

But he was dying to know, and while he had Robot alone now, Socks had to ask. "So... what's Jack like, anyway? Does he have, like, giant laser cannons? And two foot long claws? Oh! And big long wheel-belt feet, like a tank?"

"I do not really remember that well," Robot confessed, rather calmly. "I only knew him when I was a few weeks old."

It was strange. Since that April, since trying to remember his first word, Robot noticed that memories of his early operation were only getting harder and harder to recall. Concerned as he was getting about that, it also annoyed him that all his memories of Jack were suddenly so difficult to remember, just when he seemed to need them the most.

"Think about what he looks like now," Socks went on, dropping his magazine to the right side of his bed. "A robotic college man. Maybe he's got some kind of robo-goatee, or a steel-spike mohawk!"

Now looking up from his magazine, it was getting easy to see that Robot was quickly growing irritated that his friend wouldn't drop the subject. "Rest assure, I doubt he looks anything like that. As far as I can recollect, he was a short, skinny unit with two arms, two legs, a narrow head and one eye panel."

"I thought you said you didn't remember what he looked like."

"My memory banks stored his image," he said matter-of-factly, "That much of it, anyway."

Socks was mildly suspicious, but he took the opportunity to keep the topic flow moving. "I didn't know there were other robots like you that went to school."

"_Public _school," corrected Robot without hesitation, "I'm the only robot who attends a _public_ school."

He was telling the truth, or at least as far as the record said. Besides, Jack's 'schooling', as far as Robot was concerned, was really just a gimmick—his progress with academics gave the guys in charge at _JNZ Robotics_ something to brag about. Robot, on the other hand, attended school because it was required to complete his task. But he wouldn't tell Socks that, and that was because the human didn't know yet that Robot's mission was to study humans. It was kind of a supposed to remain a secret—it wasn't an official rule, but he made it one.

There were two reasons Robot didn't openly admit what he was doing there at that junior high school, even to his best friend, whom he trusted with every other secret about him. For one thing, if humans knew he was there to research them, it might alter their behaviors. They might start acting differently around him than if he wasn't there, and that might throw off his data. The other thing was that, personally, Robot really didn't want to get in deep about his mission with anyone. Yes, he was at school as a robot with a job to do, but he was honestly starting to like the idea of fitting in and joining the teenage culture. With many ups and downs in his popularity since being enrolled in Polyneux a year ago, there was no denying that Robot was making himself well known, and on the whole, that was a positive thing. As hard as it was to be accepted by the other students, Robot could only imagine how difficult that would be if they knew he was studying them. Not to mention how humiliating it would be if anyone found out.

And instead of feeling that it was easier to tell Socks, Mitch, and Cubey, who he trusted the most out of all of the humans, Robot was actually afraid the most of them finding out. It was so hard making friends when Robot first got there that he almost stopped trying. Frustrated, hurt and lonely, the automaton didn't approach the trio, _they_ came to _him._ They liked him, and they apparently saw something worthwhile in Robot that he still, a year later, couldn't figure out. Explaining to them his mission might put their friendship in jeopardy, and that was something Robot could _not_ afford to lose. in order to survive the rest of junior high school.

"And I don't care what my parents say," Robot declared, "I think Jack is being selfish to give up what would be such an excellent opportunity for any robot. The education and experiences he could have at that school could lead the way for incredible benefits for rest of his life. Adult or not, I cannot believe they are allowing him to throw this away," he said, frustratedly turning his back to his friend.

"A little jealous, are we?" Socks looked down with a grin.

Hearing the accusation, Robot whipped himself back around and slapped the magazine onto the floor. "I am most certainly not! Jack unit's fortunes since he began to work abroad are not the least of my interest." He turned his head away and gazed at his claws, "I am just finding an error with the idea that a top student such as he claims to be could not see the idiocy of his choice. I just hope when he gets here he realizes what a large mistake he has made and returns to Japan for a few more years. Not like we really need him around here, anyways."

"Whatever. When's this bro coming, anyway?"

"In three weeks," said Robot airily, then suddenly jerking his head in Socks' direction "And Jack is nothing of the sort of mine, if that is what you are implying."

They may have been automatons from the same generation, but Robot and Jack were not bothers. Robot was created, in part, by his own parents, and in part by the technical researchers at _JNZ _thirteen years ago. Jack wasn't even made by _JNZ_—he just lived and worked there for the early part of his operation because the people running the factory gained ownership of him somewhere along the line.

"No," admitted Socks, "But now that you mention it, your Mom and Dad kinda talk about him like he's your brother or something."

Robot rolled his eyes. "That is only because Jack lived with my parents before I was built. I can't help that they are so fond of him."

"_You_ kinda talk about him like he is," he said insightfully.

Robot narrowed an eyelid. "How so?"

"Well, it's obvious to me that you got a little resentment this guy, maybe by the way he soaks up all your parents' attention."

"How would you-?" Robot cut himself off, furiously shaking his head. Sometimes he couldn't stand the way Socks could see right through his situations. It was like the human didn't just contain wisdom, but some sort of mind reading ability. "I mean, what makes you think that?"

"Look, I'm a brother, and I got a brother, and I know what it's like when the folks get stuck on the other kid."

Robot shook his head with error. "But that is different. Jack's not their son. My father just sort of... looked after him before I came along, is all."

"Mm-hmm...?" Socks smiled knowingly.

"Listen," Robot swiped the air with his arm, "He is just my father's assistant," he pointed to his chest, "_I'm_ their son. Their feelings for Jack are nothing more than robotic commraderie. That's all there is to it."

"Okay. Well, if that's what you say. I mean, you would know," Socks yawned. "Sleep tight, buddy."

"Goodnight..." said Robot, almost unsurely, turning over onto his back. "... and Socks? Thank you for letting me stay over."

"Anytime, man." Socks flipped onto his other shoulder, facing the opposite wall.

Robot reached up and switched off the bright lamp on the nightstand, and pulled himself down into a comfortable position—well, as comfortable as the automaton could make himself on his back with an extremely cushy pillow propping up his head, anyways

With Socks' room now joining the chorus of silence, the house seemed cast with a spell of eternal peace. It was soon quiet enough that Robot could hear the gentle hum of his own working body. As he lie on the floor, the back of his warm, overworked head smothered by an old, overstuffed pillow, he tried to shake off the thoughts Socks had put in his head. He realized, as he continued to lay active for countless minutes after Socks was fast asleep, it was almost like he was more or less trying to make true whatever he stated just by saying it.

But what a silly notion! The last thing he saw in Jack was a threat to himself. His Mom and Dad units were only doing a kind favor to another robot by welcoming Jack to stay with them for a little while. And he and his parents did have a close relationship. After all, they were the first automatons living and working at the factory back when the company was getting off the ground, according to what Robot was told. Jack's correspondence with his mother and father units was annoying, if anything, but their relationship didn't come off to Robot as anything to be afraid of... at least as far as the little automaton was willing to admit. No. He didn't think anything of Jack's coming home as a imposition to his "normal" life. Surely...

Of course, Robot still had yet to meet him.

* * *

_**To my Guest reviewer: I can't thank you enough for the warm feedback. It's wonderful to hear that someone thinks that this is hitting close to the real series. I believe that fanfiction is most successful when it can do that. As for the approach, it's great to hear that it's working out. I'm more into the kind of realistic/serious Western cartoons, and I think Robot Jones is one of those cartoons that could do really well in a serious light. It already has that kind of door to the main character's personal essence, where we really see and think and feel what Robot's going through day to day. I thought it was easy to take some of the ideas surrounding him already and pull out some deeper themes from them. Not a lot of other kid shows, maybe some Nicktoons, but not Cartoon Cartoons, could take on this mature level with the characters and the setting the show already provides with it. I argue that Robot Jones has something of a more meaningful atmosphere, and it had everything it needed to be a really sentimental show, and a great story, even for a western cartoon. With this fanfic, my hope is to show the potential that I've always seen in this series. Since fanfiction for this show it so scarce, I figured, "Meh, why not?" **_

_**Oh, yeah, and Shannon will make an appearance soon. She actually has a big part in this fanfic series, and in later episodes, I plan on working with her a lot, revealing more about her and, even with her bad traits, why she's such a crucial part in Robot's life. **_

_**This is the first real episode in this fanfiction take on the series. I don't know how many episodes I'll be doing, but is just supposed to be a quick one to introduce my second original character after Dr. Jones, Jack. If you like him, great. If you don't, don't worry. He's really made to be a minor character, and he not going to show up much in the next few episodes. He's got another agenda in this series, but that doesn't pop up until later on. The focus of this series is on Robot and the real members of the cast.**_

_**Sorry if this was a slow chapter. As I get into this fanfic series, I guess my biggest goal is just trying to get in Robot's head during times of personal struggle or drama, yank out whatever is going on in his mind and put it into words. I wanna get into a literary perspective with the show's set up, and yeah, I throw a few variables like Jack in there, but this story is all about Robot. **_

_**Also, time and place, again, is a lose estimate. I say the show's based in Delaware just because of what it says on the web, but I'm keeping the city's name unknown to keep with the theme of the show. **_

_**More on the way. =)**_

_**Whatever Happened To Robot Jones? © **_**Cartoon Network**


	2. One Odd Automaton

Six days out of the week, Robot Jones woke up at seven A.M sharp, and if his persistent and slightly overbearing mother didn't make sure to wake him, his internal alarm would do the job.

Saturdays, however, were different. They were the one exception to the routine. Only on Saturdays could Robot disable his alarm, while his Mom obediently pulled back and let him do the one thing that teenagers wanted to do on days without school—sleep in late.

It was over half a month since Robot's last sleep over and Socks' house, and all the thoughts he struggled with that night were recessed deep into his memory banks. Faster than he expected, his life had returned to 'normal'. However, it was just a short relapse, as the daily routine he became used to was coming to a close.

By the time a well rested Robot emerged from his room, skipped down the escalator step by step and entered the kitchen, curious of what his parents were up to that typical weekend morning, the light flooding in from the great, wall length privacy glass window set off the white of the steel floor in an intense rectangular pool. His mental clock said it was a few minutes after eleven o'clock—that didn't surprise him. What he did find odd, though, was the untimely stillness of his house. While he warmed his chilly metal surface, in the blanket of sun, he looked around to either side of the kitchen.

_Are Mom and Dad units still asleep? _That would be something for the records. His parents never overcharged through the morning. Robot understood that lately, they were working harder than ever, and that they should have been a little more tired, but exhausted enough to brake that practically law-bound schedule of theirs?

If they were asleep, he didn't want to disturb them, which is why he didn't call them out, but simply tiptoed over to the pantry and snatched a canned drink.

As he took his first sip, figuring he might as well top off his energy reserve while he had the chance, a vaguely familiar noise outside brought his extremely sensitive sound receptors to attention. Of the robots living there, only he could actually hear sounds through the thick metal walls all the way onto the outside, and that was only if the air was as quiet as it was now. Whatever it was was very close to the house, and when it didn't quickly fade off, Robot put down the can and decided to investigate.

He headed to the living room and hit the open button on the front door, gingerly peeking his head out the doorway. But his eyes didn't have to travel far to find what he was looking for.

It seemed obvious, but now he recognized that sound—a bus. A large one, at that, parked on the right side of the street. It was like the kind driven in all the way from downtown, with wide, black tinted windows and covered with graffiti scribbled on every corner of the long advertisement on the side.

And there in front on the side by the curb were his parents. Up until that moment, Robot had forgotten why that day was special, but now it all came back to him.

Someone stepped off the bus. Robot could see a pair of long, shiny feet hit the concrete, but even as he scrunched his eyes, his parents blocked his view of the figure.

In a cloud of gray smoke, the bus pulled up the hill and away. Once cleared, he found his Mom and Dad had separated.

Robot blinked twice. The machine he saw standing between his parents on the concrete walkway was familiar, but only roughly. Aside from the same trademark navy blue paint coat, the unit, whom Robot could only assume at that instant was the mysterious robot that he vaguely remembered from their early days at the factory, didn't look much at all like the one the little teen thought he knew so many years ago. It appeared that Japanese engineers had taken apart Jack and rebuilt him from toe to collar. While he used to stand at four feet flat, he was now five and a few inches to spare, with a thicker armor shell over his limbs that were once as skinny as human bone. Though despite the broad armor, there were still signs of his once tall and lanky features. His head, for instance, remained the long, muffler-like part that Robot remembered the most.

The navy robot stuck out his hand and accepted Mr. Jones' strong, firm handshake with a warm smile. Then he turned to Mrs. Jones with an authentic, erect-back, Asian-style bow.

Like Robot, he stood on two feet and walked, but unlike the little automaton, instead of a pair of great, mammalian eyeballs, a blue rectangular panel sat across his face, rounding end to end.

Mrs. Jones turned her head and caught Robot spying from the doorway. The little teen attempted to run back inside and hide, but it was too late.

"Robot," he heard his mother call, "You are just in time. Come say hello,"

With a pained expression, Robot slowly slumped out of the house and down the front walk. Much like Mr. Jones' mouth panel, a flat line crossed through the center of Jack's vision panel, this one green luminescent over a royal blue screen. When Jack saw Robot approach, he smiled, and the line spiked and bounced to life with the sound of his humanistic computerized voice.

"H-hey, R.J.!" the navy blue automaton waved. "Long time, no see!"

Robot halted on the sidewalk, taken aback for some reason by the greeting. Before he could move again or even utter a proper hello, Jack threw his arms around him, lifting him up from the ground, locking his arm under Robot's neck and and twisting his metal knuckles on the top of his huge light-bulb.

"You haven't changed at all," Jack said excitedly. "You're still the tiny unit I remember your mother unit dragging around the factory."

"I wish I could say the same about you," Robot murmured helplessly before Jack set him back down on his feet. "What on earth did they do to you over there?"

"Oh! Upgrade. Like it?" he asked, standing back. "It's _Giinahio Otsruki_. He's does a lot of high-tech robotic work."

"Gee... " Robot peered at the other robot's features with surprise, "Was it expensive?"

"You bet," he said, pointing a blue finger at Robot. "But," he tossed his hand in the air, "I'm working to pay it off."

Robot cocked his head. _Jack's_ _speech... Why does he sound so...?_

"Forgive me to comment on your accent," Robot stuck out a gloved finger, "But it seems exceedingly..."

"'Exceedingly' what?" Jack questioned curiously.

Searching for the right term, Robot squinted his eyes. "Well... _human._"

"You think so?" the navy robot asked with a bit of flattery, "I cohabited with the humans for a many years so that I could imitate the way they speak."

"Really?" _No wonder. _"I would have assumed that in Asia that humans would have had a more efficient vocabulary."

"Nah, not really," Jack shook his head. "Truth is, a lot of the kids I knew had learned English as a second language. They get their terms and phrases from watching American television."

_Well, that explains that well, _thought Robot.

"Come on," Jack pulled Robot close to his side and lead him away from the curb, "Let's get up to speed, Your folks wrote to me that you're doing some... er... middle school study on human behavior or something. What's that like?"

"Ehh... hard to describe..." Robot thought, trying to hide his disgust at the annoying and often degrading job he was supposedly designed for from Jack, and more importantly, from his parents.

"Please Jack, come inside," Mrs. Jones insisted. "Make yourself comfortable, and I will fetch you a drink."

"Thank you," Jack replied, letting go of the little automaton. "Hey, Robot," he turned to him before running ahead, "You mind getting my stuff?"

"No..." Robot said unsurely. "I suppose not, but, where is-"

He turned around, and his enormous eyes fell upon a huge, brown, leather-strapped trunk on the edge of the curb. Jack must have departed the bus with it, although Robot had completely missed it up until now, probably because his parents were in the way. It was pretty old, the leather worn down to a yellowish color patch on most of the corners, even torn away in some places, and it was embellished on all sides with travel stickers. He approached it, dragging his feet—it was just a quarter a foot from being as tall as he was, and twice as wide. Robot stared at the ugly thing with a blank expression, blinked, looked back at the house where the other robots had already entered, then back at the trunk.

Sure, it was big, even a little intimidating in its unsightly appearance, but he had the strength of three or four times his own weight. How bad could it be?

Inside the house, Mr. Jones flew through the doorway and to the back of the house in what seemed like a rush, while Jack, following soon after, turned his head from wall to wall. "What an nice home you have, Mrs. Jones. White aluminum?"

"Why, thank you," she replied, coming up right behind him. "Steel plate over iron, actually-"

"Rrrgh..."

Jack and Mrs. Jones turned and watched Robot, with Jack's single piece of luggage on his back, stagger back up to the house. Even with the nature of his strength, the little automaton appeared to be straining himself with the huge, awkward trunk that stood one and a half feet taller than him on its side.

As Robot entered the house, Jack coked his head to the side. "Need help?" he asked with a seemingly well-meaning smile.

"No, no!" Robot assured him with a forced smile, a steam drop running down the side of his head, "I'm fine!"

With the trunk still on his back, he awkwardly maneuvered it through the tight doorway and In the middle of the living room, Robot finally dropped the trunk, his oval eyes expanding large enough with the relief to nearly touch the bottom of his face as the flat bottom of the trunk _SLAM!_med to the floor.

"Is this everything?" he asked, his steel knees still wobbling from the weight.

"That and the bathroom sink," Jack replied with as little as a smile.

Even Mrs. Jones was puzzled when she saw the trunk. "Jack, is there a reason you only traveled with this trunk?"

The navy robot shrugged. "Didn't want to move multiple bags. I was afraid I'd lose something."

With his arms shaking, Robot cupped his metal knees to keep himself balanced. "What were you afraid to lose? Boulders?"

Mr. Jones, with a regular sized briefcase clutched by the handle in his huge fingers, zoomed into the living room again. "I must be going to my meeting, now."

Mrs. Jones quickly wiped off a dirt smudge from his side with a cloth and tapped him affectionately with the tip of her pump. "Have a lovely day, dear."

"Goodbye, Dad unit," Robot called after his father, but frowned as he watched him speed out the front door without returning the wish.

With Mr. Jones gone and the front door soon shut, Jack returned his attention to Mrs. Jones. "So, where would you like me?"

_Right back out the door, if that wouldn't be too much trouble. _Robot put his finger to his chin. "Uh, there is an outlet in the broom closet you can use," he suggested.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Jones told them, "Jack can stay in your room."

The little automaton's pupils shrank. "My room?"

"Oh," Jack frowned and shook his head, "I couldn't impose like that."

"Not at all." Mrs. Jones insisted. "Robot would be happy to share."

While the little looked at his mother horrificly, the navy robot smiled again. "Well, okay. If you say so." He slugged Robot in the arm playfully.

"_Mph_!" Robot grabbed his shoulder. Recovering quickly from the blow, he looked mortified. _My room? But no one is allowed in my room! _

His room was the most private location in the entire house—next to his parent's room, that is. In the effort to establish his personal boundaries, he had tried to make it a rule that his room was off limits to everyone. Sure, he would let his friends in his room if they wanted to, but even then, Robot was shy about them coming over because of what they might think about it. The real problem was that his parents didn't seem to easily take the hints that, as he moved into adolescence, all he wanted was some more privacy. However, with how they, especially his mother, continued to barged in whenever they had something to tell him, Robot's "knock first" policy was something of a dream.

"It is the last door upstairs on the left," Mrs. Jones told Jack. "Come with me, Robot, and help me locate the extra cable charger."

It was all Robot could do to withhold a sigh. "Yes, mother."

As Jack headed upstairs, Robot and his mother went into the kitchen. In the left corner, adjacent to the back stairs door, there was another open doorway before a small pantry.

Once inside, Robot leaned out and peeked back into the kitchen and down the hall to make sure it was all clear before speaking. "Mom unit, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Specify please," she said, pulling open the wide, top drawer in the wall on the right.

"I mean," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Letting this unit stay here," he said, glanced back and forth warily.

"Certainly. He needs shelter, and we need some help. It works out quite well for us all."

"But what if it doesn't?" Robot argued as he watched his mother move things around inside the drawer, "Are you really sure you know this robot? Who knows what sort of ulterior motive he could have by asking to board here? You don't suspect whatsoever that he might be using this the perfect opportunity to take personal information right from under our welds?"

"Oh, that is silly," she shut the drawer and pulled out another, "Jack wouldn't be capable of anything like that. Your father and I have known him for years, and he is a very trustworthy boy."

Robot peeked over the tall top drawer with just his eyes. "Does he have to stay in my room, though?" he asked the more relevant question, hoping that for once she would pick up on the hint.

"Well, there really isn't another free room to use at the moment."

"Why can't just stay in one of the storage rooms or something?"

"Robot, there is no more space in our storage rooms—you know that."

"No..." Robot admitted, knowing that the two storage rooms in the house were filled to the brim with boxes, machines and other robotic items, "But wouldn't it be possible to just shove some boxes into my room and let Jack have the storage room?"

"Robot Jones, that is enough. Your room is large enough for _four _units to occupy, let alone two. Now, Jack will spend most of the day, out working or at college, and you will be at school. You sleep in the charging chamber at night. You will hardly ever encounter him-it will be as if he's not really there, I assure you."

Disappointed, it sounded to Robot that his mother once again failed to recognize that he was angling to preserve his privacy— his subtle tactics were of no use.

But the intelligent female robot could have expected that Robot was going to speak up and voice an opinion sooner or later about this decision to let Jack live here—naturally, finding out he was going to be sharing of his room is what set him off. She knew that this sudden adjustment wasn't easy, which is why she sort of put off telling him until the last minute, and that Robot was totally within his rights to complain—a good a child that he was raised to be, that he didn't pout or yell about it like other kids would.

"Robot, I am asking you this as favor," she said, placing a pump on his shoulder. "Please make Jack feel welcome. He is our friend, and this is just a temporary situation—it won't be forever. In the meantime, I am sure you will grow fond of him once you two get acquainted. He might yet surprise you."

Robot peered down at the floor with guilt. _Maybe Mom unit is right, _he thought. _I shouldn't be so fast to assume the worst. I hardly know this robot. _

Still, sharing his room? Robot wasn't sure how he was going to like that, no matter who he had to share it with.

He didn't understand what was wrong with his suggestion to move Jack into the storage room. At least then both robots would have their privacy.

It wasn't like Mrs. Jones didn't feel guilt about the arrangement. She didn't want to have to ask her son to give up part of his room, but space in the house would be tight until their annual spring clean-out. If he were still living here after that, Jack would have his own room, and Robot would be content again. But until _JNZ_ sent the big U-haul came to take away all those spare factory parts in the storage rooms for recycle or the junk yard, things would have to be this way. She wasn't going to tell Jack to take the basement with her father, Gramps. It was dark, dusty and cold down there, and in her conscious, considerate ways, she was determined to make sure their guest unit did not feel like a second class citizen in her home, especially because of the history he and her husband had together. However, she sure wouldn't forget her son's needs so soon, either.

Robot lifted a wrench from the drawer, allowing his mother to pick up a wrapped cord that was under it. "There should be a free outlet in your room by the stereo. Come along, Robot."

The little automaton replaced the tool, shut the drawer and prepared to follow his mother when she added:

"And please bring Jack's trunk up with you."

Robot halted mid-robotic march, his face taking on a sour expression.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Jones rolled into Robot's room, finding Jack in the center of the floor, taking in the sights.

In Robot's room, among the jungle of wires and steel pipes, there were just a couple posters and a few select pieces of human furniture—across the door, a chipped mess of a dresser, a mirror and a pale brown filing cabinet. To the right wall in the middle, a long, silver desk with side drawers and a swivel chair. And in the back to the left, the most recent addition to the furniture, an old, blue suede couch. It was a little stiff, busted in, and it even sank in some places, as like much of Robot's furniture, it was second hand merchandise that he found to work good enough for him. The couch was actually something that he bought and dragged home himself from the dime store so that he and Socks would have a place to crash and play video games in his room when he came over.

There was also recently added a small set of antique appliances that Robot had recovered from various places and had, out of boredom, taken apart and put back together to make work nearly as good as new. The schematics went to feed his seemingly never-full memory banks, and after they were fixed, Robot got the use out of them, such as a 30's radio that was just half a foot taller than he was, which he kept in the right corner by his enormous stereo system.

"Hmm, it's..." Amazed at the size and emptiness of the room, despite everything in it, Jack turned to Mrs. Jones. "... pretty big."

She passed the bundled cord and a can of oil to Jack. "The outlet is in the corner over there. Is there anything else I might acquire for you?"

"Thank you. This is perfect," Jack replied, holding out the cord to study it.

From around the corner, Jack's trunk awkwardly poked through the doorway, followed by Robot, semi-hunched over right under it.

"Well, I have some cleaning to do, so I will leave you boys to get adjusted," said Mrs. Jones, slipping through the doorway as soon as her son came in with the trunk.

Watching Robot carry the huge brown burden in on near-buckled knees, Jack took a thoughtful swig of his drink. "You can set it down wherever, Robot."

_Thanks, _Robot thought irritatedly. _I appreciate the permission. _"Jack, what's in this trunk of yours, anyways?" asked the little automaton, again relieving himself of the weight with the slam. It wasn't in his nature to comment about the weight of something, but this was a rare exception "The essentials and some mementos... maybe a mountain or two?"

"I though I could swing the whole island in that sucker," Jack countered Robot's sarcasm, "But I had to settle for things that weren't grounded to the ocean floor." He made a quick chuckle. "Nah, It's mostly stuff my friends gave me before I left." He ejected a key from his fingertip, set down the can and beginning to work the lock.

"Really?" Robot's voice trailed off with disinterest. "... Jack..." he leaned against the side of the trunk while the other robot worked on it, kicking one leg over the other and fiddling with the tips of his fingers. "... Was it difficult to make companions in Japan?"

Jack peered up. "Difficult?"

"Yes. I mean..." It was a sincere question. Still trying to make a comfortable social place for himself at school, he was naturally curious of how other robots fared trying to fit in with humans, and this was the first time he ever got to ask a robot in a similar situation. "Didn't the humans have a hard time accepting the fact that you're a... you know," Robot shrugged. For some reason he was afraid to use the real word. "... Not human?"

Jack shrugged. "No. Not really."

"Really?"

"I had human friends," the navy robot said as if it were no big deal.

Skeptically, Robot narrowed his eyes. "Do tell."

"Well, you got to remember, Robot, they hire more robots over there than here in America. I guess, as a result, they've become somewhat more socially recognized."

_Right... _Robot thought, pushing himself off the trunk, back onto the bottoms of his feet. _Of course they are._

"Oh! Yeah," Jack smiled, retracting his key into his hand and throwing open the lid on the trunk. "I nearly forgot—I brought you back a little something I thought you might like."

Robot's face suddenly lit up, and he turned his head with an eager grin. "No kidding?"

"Yep—ah, here it is," Jack reached into the deep trunk.

Excited, Robot gratefully shut his eyes and held out his hands. Jack hardly knew him at all, and yet he was kind enough to pick him up a souvenir—that was a sort of friendliness he wasn't familiar with in anyone else. Perhaps this was the surprise about Jack his mother was talking about, he realized. As the other robot fished through the trunk, Robot imagined all of the cool gadgets and technologies that Jack could have come across in another, highly advanced country. His wait was practically unbearable.

"Okay," Jack told him at last, "You can look."

Robot frowned, hardly noticing that anything was placed into the palms of his black, rubber gloves at all. _Sure doesn't feel very heavy. _

He opened his eyes to find Jack's 'little something' to be a rather accurate description, as his eyes beheld a tiny, stuffed dog with black fur, large plastic black eyes, and wearing a blue neck-tie.

"They call him," Jack gleefully informed Robot, "Sayonara Schnauzer."

* * *

_**So, there it is. Now you've met Jack. Feedback on him would really be helpful as I try to mold this character into a believable and likable addition to the Robot Jones cast. **_

_**Jack's a funny sort of robot, terribly different from Robot, who likes stupid things and is a little over-humanized (my bad XD), although he's not an android like Finkman (although you will find, he can be just as obnoxious.)**_

_**Just to clarify: Jack's just had more experience with more humans than Robot has had so far at this point. Still, does it make any sense that he's sounds a little more westernized than Robot, who's actually been living in the United States all his life? XD Poke me all you want for that. **_

_**Sorry if I end up sounding redundant through some of this. XP I write like that, sometimes. **_

_**I like referring to Robot as "the little automaton"-makes him sound even cuter. 8P**_

_**They never specified in the series whether Gramps unit is dad to Mom or Dad unit. In this case, I made him Mrs. Jones' father, because of a few robotic traits they share.**_

_**Comments and criticism are always appreciated. =D Chapter 3 on the way. **_

_**Whatever Happened To Robot Jones? © **_**Cartoon Network**


	3. The Long Weekend

_Jack unit has to be the strangest robot I have ever met. _

Robot didn't recall much about the older robot from when they used to know each other, but from what he'd seen of Jack over the weekend, his carefree and somewhat eccentric personality was nothing like what he might have assumed from a supposedly 'mature' robot. Actually, he didn't act like any machine Robot had ever known.

_He spends over twelve years in one of the most quickly advancing nations in the world, and what does he decide to bring back? _

"A stuffed animal," Robot presented the dog in the tips of his fingers.

In the cafeteria that following Monday, Robot brought his present for show-and-tell in front of his four closest friends at the notorious "loser" table, in the back row by the wall.

Cubey swallowed and set down his milk. "I heard that's a pretty mean fad over there right now."

Robot dropped the toy in the palm of his glove and stared at it with his eyelid half lowered. "For children, perhaps."

"Can I see it?" asked Mitch.

"You can have it if you like," Robot handed it to the boy across the table, then folded his arms. "One would presume a unit would have something a big more culturally intriguing to share about their experience in a different country."

"At least he got you something," commented Socks, sitting on Robot's left. "Six years ago, when my grandma came back from her vacation in Italy, all she had was one thing for me."

"What was that?"

"A big, wet, garlicy kiss on the cheek. To this day, I can't even look at spaghetti sauce without having a flash back to when I was seven."

"Weren't _those_ the days?" said Mitch, leaning back in his chair and scratching the stuffed dog behind the ears.

"Pardon my disruption, but may we please return the conversation to the original topic?" asked Robot, "Thank you."

"I don't get what you're complaining about, Robot," remarked Mitch.

"Yeah, from how you're telling it, it doesn't sound like Jack is all that bad," Socks agreed, "He sounds like he means okay, right?"

"I know," Robot straightened himself and watched as he neatly folded his claws. "It is the thought that counts," he said, referring to the gift, "But I just don't understand his logic."

"You thought you would?" Mitch shrugged. "My older brother in college never made any sense to me—and I bunked with the dude for years."

"Well, Jack is not my brother," Robot repeated without missing a beat, "And his stay here has been nothing but an irritation."

He couldn't stand the very idea that he might have any sort of relationship with him—he could hardly believe that Jack was staying with them.

The big thing was that Jack, the _robot, _just didn't act like one. He seemed entirely too careless and easygoing—plus, he sounded hardly anything like a real robot. Even with his suspicions however, it was still too early for Robot to confirm that Jack was an overly common case, human kiss-up robot. But he did notice that the older unit was, for whatever reason, fond of human customs and trinkets, ergo the stuffed schnauzer.

But it wasn't just the toy that Robot was annoyed with. The dog was a petty complaint when looking at everything else that occurred that weekend after Jack moved in. Even in his seemingly friendly way, there was something about Jack that made Robot wary. Something about him that dug under Robot's metallic skin, and annoying wasn't the word to describe it. There was another feeling—something new.

It was enough that Robot couldn't help but vent about it to the only kids he knew who cared.

"I'm not one to base a quick judgment, but I am afraid I have underestimated this situation," Robot finally admitted, his frustration clear. "Take Saturday night for instance..."

* * *

**Saturday Night**

When the hustle and bustle of getting the new robotic guest settled in was over, Robot's mother had enlisted him and Jack in reorganizing the garage, which sat in the back of their house behind the yard. After that, as Jack slipped out for a little personal time, Mrs. Jones found another chore for Robot to do. By the end of the day, the little automaton was wiped out—so tired he was, that he leaned his arm against the wall as he hit the button to enter his room.

He slumped before the doorway as the steel plate rose before him, eyes staring into space. "What a day—_Wha-_!"

On his first step inside, his feet suddenly lost traction. He teetered backwards, waving his arms frantically to stay balanced before he leaned forward. He barely had time to cringe before he CRASHED, face down.

Moments later, Robot lifted his head, pushing himself upward. Opening his eyes, he noticed the slick, brown, watery substance on the floor beneath him. "What the...?"

Automatically, his eyes began an eco-scan.

_Continents: H2O, soil granulates and 10% miscellaneous matter. _

_Analysis: …_

"Ehh..." Robot groaned, lifting his dripping arm from the mucky water with disgust, "... Mud tracks? How did that..." His eyes popped, hearing the motorized steps of another automaton walk in right passed him, on his way to the couch—dark brown sludge and blades of grass sticking to his feet.

"Your upstairs is a lot bigger than it looks," Jack commented. A few feet away, the realization hit him, and he turned his head and saw Robot on the floor. "Oh, need a hand?"

"No thank you, I am good." Slowly and carefully, Robot pushed himself into his feet, grimacing as he saw his arms and front side streaked with brown. "Where did you just come back from?"

Jack shrugged. "Monster truck rally."

"Oh..." Robot made a puzzled expression, "That's... interesting." Robot made the connection in his head, but then it still didn't add up. "Is there any reason _your _feet are covered in mud?"

"I helped push out some of the cars stuck in the ditches."

Robot forced a sour smile. "Ah, I see." Then he frowned, noticing a shiny, gold medallion and colored ribbon pinned to the navy-colored robot's chest. "Where'd you get that ribbon?"

"Oh," Jack reached up and plucked the magnetic prize from his vibrant chassis door. "I filled in for somebody who ditched at the last minute."

"Wait a minute, you _drove_ a monster truck?" Robot asked skeptically. "You don't have a license to drive here. "

"Yeah."

"Wait a-you _do_?"

"Uh-huh."

Robot looked baffled. "But, you—you just got here—When did you apply for a Delaware license?"

"Well, I stopped by the DMV on my way to the monster truck rally." Jack reached into his chassis and pulled out a small, plastic, white square card with his picture in the corner. "It's really an in-out kind of thing."

"Is that so?..." Robot stared with disbelief.

He found it suspicious that Jack had only been home for one day, and had already become so well adjusted to the American way of life that he had already went out galliventing all by himself—let alone finding all these places without any help. He wouldn't admit the possibility that it might have simply been in Jack's design, that maybe the older robot was better equipped for learning to assimilate—Robot refused to acknowledge that thought twice.

"You ought to come with next time," Jack said, "It's outta' sight."

"Thanks," Robot replied unenthusiastically. "I'll keep that in mind."

After snatching a book from the top of Robot's desk, Jack pounced belly-down onto the blue couch. "Man, am I bushed."

The crunch of the sofa under Jack's weight made Robot cringe. He eyed the navy robot with a confused stare. "Uh... Jack?"

Jack peered up from the book. "Yeah?"

"... Y-you're on the couch."

"Yeah, uh-huh?" He kicked his filthy feet in the air like a typical teenager. "I gotta tell you, Robot, this thing's pretty comfy."

"Well, yes. It's just that I bought that couch for Socks unit, and it is not really designed to hold the entire weight of the average... er... robot." Robot trailed off as he noticed Jack, his 'nose' in the book, either wasn't following, or he just wasn't paying attention. He dropped his arm and gazed to the side awkwardly. "... Alrightee..."

The intercom in Robot's room crackled to life with Mrs. Jones' voice. "Boys, it is suppertime."

"Sweet!" Jack hopped up from the couch, dashed to the door and back out.

A famished Robot prepared to follow, but stopped in the middle of his room and glanced back at the couch. The beat-up, old thing seemed to hold Jack fine, even as he plopped onto it with all his weight. The little automaton had been a little reluctant to sit on it without one of his friends, but now he was curious. Just how strong was that thing?

He approached the couch and tapped the middle of the seat with his claws, eventually beating his metal fists into the seat to see how it would react. Robot was certain it would have broken—well, broken _worse _because of Jack's body weight.

With claws folded, Robot sat himself on the edge of the couch, carefully releasing his weight from his feet. Then he waited a few moments in silent anticipation. When nothing happened, he made a pleasured grin.

_Hey, this isn't so bad. Perhaps Jack unit is onto some-_

SPOING!

A large spring popped out of the seat, ripping right through the fabric and launched the unsuspecting Robot into the air. "YEEAAAAHHH!"

Bits of cotton stuffing snowed down around the couch before Robot crashed onto the floor.

Later that evening, with a crack on his bulb and a scowl on his face, Robot forcefully shoved the broken spring back into the couch, held down the spot with his foot, and ripped off two pieces of duct tape to seal the tear in the fabric.

"Boy, there's nothing like home-style, roasted lug nuts," said Jack coming in the door, cracking his metal fingers. "Hey Robot, you just missed the greatest meal ever."

"I wasn't very well in the mood," Robot said over his shoulder, depressing the tape and tearing off another piece with his 'teeth'.

"A little furniture trouble?" the older robot observed.

"You noticed?" Robot said, forcing back the urge to grit his 'teeth'.

Jack approached the sofa, slowing down once he saw the damaged. "_Ooo_, that's a bad tear."

"The spring popped out."

"Yeah... " Jack sighed hard as if he'd seen this situation before. "... You really shouldn't jump on those things. They're not robot-certified."

"Thank you." Robot replied over his shoulder with sarcasm."I will be sure to add that to my data."

SPOING!

Robot, with a frightened look as the spring popped right back out of the couch, pulled back his arms close in a dainty fashion. Then he dropped them and slumped his shoulders, taking on a frustratedly neutral expression.

"Eh, no problem," said Jack obliviously, then pointed to the sofa. "You know, I'm pretty good with repairing stuff. Maybe I could help you out."

"I will consider that when I fix the ceiling," commented Robot, pointing to the big upward dent in the steel plate directly above him.

After throwing the duct tape back into his chassis, Robot's forehead began to tip forward, his eyes drooping. "Power reserve is low," he announced tiredly, then marched over to his desk and pulled open the long drawer. "Time for pre-nocturnal charge routine."

The little automaton lazily moved things about in the drawer, and after a moment, he paused, scrunching his brow. Carefully, he shuffled the drawers contents again, watching closer this time. When his search didn't yield what he was looking for, he leaned forward and peered in.

"Where is my screwdriver?"

"Where's _what_?" Jack asked.

"My screwdriver—I need it to perform my tune-up. I do it every Saturday night."

Jack shifted his head from him to the wall to him again. "Oh, I haven't seen it."

"Well, how am I supposed to tighten my screws?"

"Ah, don't sweat it," the older robot walked to the middle of the room and bent over his trunk. "I got a ton of those things you can use."

Robot sighed. "That's good."

As he came forward, Jack flipped off the top and dug around, holding out to him the tool he was looking for. "Here ya go."

Robot peered at it for just a moment. "That's a Phillips."

"Yeah."

"I need a flat-head.

"Oh..." he peered down, taking his arm back. "Uh, sorry. I don't have one of those."

Robot tipped his head to the side tiredly. "Perfect."

"Hey, don't short a circuit," Jack tossed the screwdriver back and shut the lid on the trunk, and then knuckled the top of Robot's bulb, "I'm sure it'll show up eventually." After throwing the lock back on, he headed into Robot's bathroom. "I'm gonna wipe this mud off my toes."

Robot blinked, then nervously followed Jack. "B-b-be careful in there. I just shined the-"

_Slam. _The thin, metal door shot down in front of Robot face. Slowly and stiffly, the little automaton turned and beheld the foot tracks leading from the door that had yet to be touched.

_Certainly, _he thought, _tidy yourself up—worry about the floor later. _

Robot sighed softly. His mother's training had made him a bit of a compulsive cleaner. He wasn't bothered by a little imperfect organization—he was guilty of a little clutter from time to time, from here to his locker at school, but a heap of clutter really did get to him to the point that he just had to clean. And he was especially irritated by dirt.

As worn out as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest knowing that his floor was in this state. Besides, he could very well wind up taking the blame for the mess, were his parents to come in, so he might as well get it over with now. Reluctantly, he went back to his desk, pulled out the bottom drawer and grabbed a clean rag. Now he needed chrome polish for buffing the floor. He gazed around the room, trying to remember where he put it.

By chance, his eyes fell on Jack's incredibly heavy trunk, still sitting in the middle of the room where he had dropped it earlier that day. Robot had never actually gotten to see what was inside, but he figured a robot who showed up to his house as shiny and presentable as he did that morning must have brought with him some turpentine or something Robot could use.

And for mucking up his floor, it was the least Jack could do to spare some cleaning polish.

Walking over to the trunk, then leaning over it, Robot began felt a little nervous. He realized it wasn't his to open, and he would have felt better to ask permission.

After gazing back at the bathroom for a few moments, fiddling with his fingers, Robot worked up the nerve to take a crack at the lid. But the realization hit him as soon as his eyes landed on the giant, tarnished padlock in the middle.

Of course, it was locked again.

Robot played with the padlock in his fingers for a few seconds before admitting to himself that there was no way he was going to get into the trunk without creating an obvious laser burn mark, and he dropped his arms.

Just as he backed away from the trunk with a look of defeat, he caught glimpse of a object sticking out from the back. Curiously, he reached over and picked it up from the floor.

He held in his hands a medium, red and black handled screwdriver. If it's familiar colors weren't enough evidence, when Robot turned it over, he observed the thin, whitish tape label on the handle that read **Property of Robot E. Jones**.

_Here it is, _Robot thought. _But how did it get here?_

It was rare for him to misplace his things. He had a place for just about everything, and his favorite screwdriver's place was in the long junk drawer inside his desk.

Just then, he heard the toilet flush, and he glared, turning to the bathroom. Suddenly, his guilt over attempting to open the trunk disappeared.

_So he hasn't seen it, huh?_

Robot opened his chest cavity and tossed the screwdriver inside for safe keeping. To avoid suspicion, he threw his hands behind his back and gazed away nonchalantly as he heard the bathroom door reopen.

Jack walked by him, yawning and without noticing the scowl he was receiving from his miffed, little host. "Goodnight, R.J.," he said, dragging his clean, steely feet across the floor. "Just a heads up, you're kinda out of buffer polish. See ya tomorrow."

As he reached the end of the wall, Jack shut off the light, leaving a stunned Robot's blinking, yellow eyes bearing into the mute darkness.

* * *

"I would not mind him borrowing my things," Robot said, back in the present, "If he would just bother to let me be aware before he takes it... or, have the courtesy to give it back."

Robot couldn't just go up to Jack and complain about these things—he promised his mother he would make him feel welcome. The issue was that Jack seemed to act way too welcome without the effort, and the stretch of his comfort was becoming something of a burden to the younger automaton. But if Robot tried to say something, Mom unit might be upset with him. Jack was their guest, after all.

"Come on, Robot," said Cubey. "There's got to be some bright side to this."

"I have my doubts," Robot admitted. "As of now, Jack has managed to take half of my room, break my couch, lose my tools and then lies about it, and if it were not bad enough, he snores as he charges."

"Oh, that's-Wait a minute, but... he's a _robot_, isn't he?" asked Socks.

"Exactly. Have you ever attempted to sleep in the same room as a snoring automaton?"

"Can't say I have," said Mitch with a mouthful of bread and lunch meat.

"Well, the sound is not easy to describe," Robot pondered. "Do you know what occurs when you stick a pen in a pencil sharpener?"

Socks swallowed hard and lowered his half-eaten apple nervously. "Why?" His eyes shifted from side of side. "What did they tell you?"

"Yeah, I did that when I was five," said Mitch. "Only it was a marker. Kinda sounds like-" he started rapidly thrashing his head and shuddering, "-'BWURRRURURURRURR-" he slowly lowered his forehead to the table , "-eeeeei!'" he tossed his long hair back and looked up straight, "And dead."

"No way, I did that by accident two years ago," said Cubey, "It's more like..." he jolted, crunching his arms close to his body, gritting his teeth and shaking violently. "RWAAWAWAWAAAWAWAWAWAW..."

"Cubes?" asked Mitch.

Cubey fell off his chair and started to flop around on the floor, still creating the disturbing noise.

"Cubey?"

The spiky-haired boy was consumed with tremors, spit and tiny bubbles now beginning to spill out of the side of his mouth.

"CUBEY!"

Immediately, he paused. Looking upward, he asked, "What?"

"Show's over, man," said Mitch. "Eighty-six the seizure."

"I'm a choking pencil sharpener,"

"You look more like my old gerbil, Pop-Rocks, right before he bit the big one," the long haired brunette with headphones remarked, watching Cubey climb back into his chair and wipe his mouth on the back of his wrist.

"So basically," Socks turned back to Robot, "It kinda sounds like that?"

"I suppose... " Robot closed his eyes, dropping his tired head onto the table with a metallic thud.

* * *

**Last Night...**

_1:34 A.M. _

"_Rurr-rur-rurr-rurrr-rrurr-rurrr.._."

The metallic rustle, centered in the little automaton's room, carried throughout the upstairs level.

Even in his sleeping chamber, Robot had to pinch his antennae to block out the noise that somehow even penetrated the half foot thick, steel wall, into his little dark nest of wires and monitors.

When his irritation got the best of him, he de-attached himself from the central plug in his skull, hit the release button on his bedside key pad and dropped down into his room.

In the far corner of the room, Jack, the navy colored automaton, sat on the floor, back leaning steeply against the wall. His legs sprawled out like a V, and his charging cord crawling up from the outlet next to the humungous speakers up to his head, where a metallic retainer-like crown, tangled with blinking wires, was attached to the top of his flat head. The disruptive sound heard was coming not from his deep within his chassis, where the motor and battery were.

"I have heard automobiles on their death beds that didn't sound this bad," Robot said to himself quietly, watching a never-the-wiser Jack frolic through peaceful sleep mode.

He tiptoed to the larger unit's side, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Jack? Jack?"

But the automaton didn't stir. So Robot decided to take his chances. He reached down and unlocked the hinged door to Jack's chest. As he carefully began to peer inside to find the problem, he thought he heard a different noise.

"Urr..."

Robot paused, looking up at Jack's head. But the other unit hadn't moved, so he started again. As Robot thought he saw the irritating noise-maker—a lose component—he grinned and reached into the chassis. But a metallic arm came out of nowhere to slam down on his back. Flinching briefly, he gazed left and right with confusion, and the arm pulled him in closer just as Jack's body began to tip to the right. Robot barely had time to gulp before he was crushed by the weight of the taller, unconscious automaton, who's incredibly heavy torso now had him pinned to the floor.

"Great..."

* * *

"Rough," said Mitch at the end of the story.

"Anyway," Robot concluded, "I would up charging the rest of the evening with clothespins on the ends of my audio receptors. Strangely enough," the automaton reported, looking to his right and reaching up and delicately touching his antenna "It's actually quite effective."

"So I guess... all's good now," Mitch asked their robotic friend, "Huh?"

"Well, that is one problem temporarily solved." Robot didn't know what he was going to do about the rest of his roommate issues.

"I'm kinda looking forward to getting a load of this guy," Cubey admitted.

Nodding, Socks turned back to Robot. "So when do we get to meet him, anyway?"

"How about now?" the navy robot in question suddenly poked his head between Socks and Robot and waved this fingers. "Sup."

"Jack!" Robot exclaimed.

"Zombies..." Mitch said. "Somebody order instant delivery?"

"_Whoop-whoop_," Cubey stiffened his arms and moved them around like a robot. "Phantombot: _appear._"

Robot spun around in his seat and looked up at Jack nervously. "What are you doing here? You are supposed to be home."

"I just came by to see what your school is like—meet your human friends," he waved and nodded to the boys, "Oh, yeah... and I've got a quick message for you:" Jack's eye panel flashed three times, and a recording of Mrs. Jones' voice emerged. "'_Hello, Little Robot_'."

Socks and the crew snickered. Robot groaned and buried his chin in his glove.

As the chuckles settled, it was Cubey, then, who chose to ask the hanging question."So you knew Robot from when he was little, right?"

"Me and R.J.?—Oh, sure, we go _way_ back," Jack said, slapping a slouched Robot on the back, starting him back into an erect posture. "We used to run around the factory and play games, pull worker's pants down—_man_, those were good times!"

Robot found that hard to believe, as nowhere in his impressive memory did he have record of such merriment with Jack whatsoever. "I don't recall that."

"Well, that's because you were a baby, genius," Jack thumped the back of his head with the flick of his finger.

Despite their friend's clear embarrassment, the humans couldn't repress their chuckles.

Then Socks was nagged by a bold, seemingly obvious question. "Hey, was he ever smaller than he was now?"

"Uhh..." Robot blushed slightly, remembering the little experiment he had with altering his height last year. He'd hoped a question like this would never come up—he was too embarrassed to have to explain himself.

"Actually, Robot hasn't changed much since back then," Jack patted Robot's shoulder as he leaned in between him and Socks, "Although I've had a few upgrades throughout the years—you know, to stay working okay."

"Hmph," said Robot, leaning his head into his palm, elbow on the table, while he took a very long sip of his can.

Jack stood up straight and put his hands on his hips. "Eeh... I wasn't going to say anything," he said, keeping a smile as he stood over Robot with a cocky, Bugs Bunny-like stance. "But your mother also wanted me to tell you to take it easy with the oil intake. Don't want another busy night in the bathroom, do you, bity-bot?'"

Robot's cheeks turned a bright crimson. He spat out the fuel in his mouth, as his pupils shrank in shock. This time, the boys burst out laughing, and they were joined by every surrounding table in the lunch room.

His face still hot, Robot turned to Jack, glaring while a pool of dark brown liquid continued to drip from his mouth and chin to the table top. "Please just go," he asked, his deep voice low, and on the threatening edge.

Even so, Jack's grin didn't flinch. "Fine by me," he shrugged.

As Jack walked away, Robot turned back to the humans with a helpless look.

"Okay... point made," said Mitch.

"On the other hand," Cubey noted, "It's not like it can get any worse."

Soon after, as Robot wiped off his mouth with a napkin, three shrill cries made him and the boys turn around in their seats. Behind them, near the table diagonally on the left, Jack was hoisting a random pair of girls up into the air by their chair legs with ease.

"You? Need to lose weight?" the tall automaton asked them. "I don't think so."

The girls, one a frizzy blond in lose, workout clothes, and a brunette in a pink shirt and jeans that the guys heard, shrieked with the stranger's flattery.

"You wanna bet on that, Cubes?" Socks asked.

Robot blinked with horror. "I thought I told him to leave," he said with a worried edge on his voice.

As the four outcasts watched Jack shuffle the girls in the air, Mitch dared to state what was already clear."... Don't think he got the message, Robot."

The blond, held up by Jack's right hand, laughed. "Oh, Jack, you're so strong!"

"Would you look at that?" Socks gestured across the room, amazed rather than miffed. "Two minutes in, and the guy owns the place."

"It's like Alexander the Great," said Cubey, "But with girls instead of... you know... empires."

Robot's eyes narrowed. _If he's so strong, _the little automaton thought,_ how come he couldn't carry up his own trunk?_

"Oh, man," said Mitch, "If someone on staff sees this, they're gonna freak."

Robot's mouth shrank down to near nothing. _Mitch is right... and I just know who they are going to blame!_

The little automaton jumped up in his chair. "Jack, you can't be here!" he whisper-shouted to the nearby table, waving his arms frantically in an attempt to signal the danger. "You'll get me in trouble! Please, you must vacate the premises!"

When Jack failed to notice, Robot dropped his arms and started climbing off of his seat, realizing he would have to take more abrasive action to get him out of here.

"Uh-oh," Socks's arm shot forward and he pointed to the entrance, "Here comes Madman."

Frozen with fear, Robot and the two other boys gasped as their robust principal thundered into the cafeteria.

"What's with all the shrill screams?" Madman demanded, holding a crossword puzzle and a pen in the air. "I could hear them all the way from my office."

He looked out into the cafeteria and made a bug-eyed blink, watching two of his female students gleefully riding the shoulders of a five foot tall, navy colored automaton.

A familiar fear filled him, and sweat ran down his pink, pudgy face. "A-a-a-a-another robot?" he stammered.

Only one other time had there been two robots wandering about Polyneux on his watch, and back then, Madman had become well acquainted with the guest robot.

Intimidation gave way to anger, and he steamed. "Oh, I know the one student who could be responsible for this..." He stormed over to the table of losers.

Robot heard a tap against his steely shoulder. He whipped his head around to find Madman towering over his shoulder. "Jones," he demanded with his hands on his hips, "Care to tell me who THAT is?" He pointed across the lunchroom.

Robot watched Jack effortlessly juggle the squeally, now three twelve year old girls in his arms like a clown with bowling pins, and then turned and looked up at Madmen with a nervous smile. "Uh... ahaha... what, might I ask, makes you believe that I know him?"

"Don't play around with me, Mr. Jones," Madman threatened in the little robot's face, "I control your permanent record. If there is another robot running around, what am I to do but assume it has something to do with you? Now, who is that robot, terrorizing my other students?"

"His name's Jack," Mitch answered for Robot.

"And I wouldn't exactly call them terrorized," Socks added, observing the smiles on the girl's faces, and the crowd of onlookers Jack had brought to himself.

"Jack," the principal repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Where did he come from?"

"Japan."

"Japan? In Asia?"

"He's crashing with Robot's family for a while," said Cubey.

Two beads of sweat ran down Madman's face. "He-He's not another new student here... is he?" The principal asked with fear, even though he specifically told his front office receptionist, Gretchen, to warn—well, to _inform_ him ahead of time of any new 'unique' students coming in, after first meeting young Mr. Jones.

"No," Robot answered in a helpless monotone, "He is just in for a visit." _An unbearably long one, at that_, he thought with his tired face buried in the palms of his gloves.

"A visit?" asked Madman. "Without signing in at the front office? Why, that's..._ trespassing_!"

_Here we go_, the little automaton thought with despair.

"Outrageous!" Madman boomed, "Where is my security?" he screamed into the air, balling his fists furiously. "_Where_ is my safety patrol?!"

Upon his call, the school's senior, respected, eccentric custodian, Mr. Clancy Q. Sleepyjeans, shot up behind Madman immediately. "RIGHT HERE, SIR!" he saluted him like a good soldier.

"_Gah_!" Madman jumped as Clancy popped up behind his back like a jack-in-the-box. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be manning the main door! It's your watch shift!"

"Oh, yeah," the janitor suddenly remembered with a smile, "Yeah I was, but then I got hungry, so I got's me a chicken burger—can't take down bad guys on an empty gullet."

"Well, while you were stuffing your face, we've have an_ intruder _in the building," Madman pointed across the room to the navy robot.

"Intruder? Where?" The old custodian scrunched his eyes, observing the funky, yellow design on Jack's chassis door that looked oddly alien. He gasped. "Jeez Louise!" he threw up his hands, dropping his mop. "It the martians! They done landed! I need ta' hide!"

Drawing students attention, Clancy ducked behind Madman and clutched the man's meaty shoulders. "What the-?" the befuddled principal asked, "What are you-?"

"Pardon me, sarge," said Clancy, peeking his head above Madman's shoulder, "But they already got my DNA—they know who I am."

"Good lord..." Madman slapped his face. "Clancy, there are no such-"

"Did I ever tell you of the time I's abducted by a flyin' saucer?"

"Oh, not again..." the principal groaned.

"The year 'us nineteen-fifty three," the janitor narrowed his eyes as he recounted the tale.

* * *

**Flashback...**

"_I's working on the farm down south, runnin' the tractor through the fields..."_

Through the lense of an old, brown and white camera, a coffee brown, starry sky hung over a whitish, grassy, hilly terrain by a lone highway, miles long. A large, willowing tree sat on the left.

A younger Clancy Q, with dark head and facial hair, overalls and a baseball cap, drove a tractor through a wheat ground.

"_It was a late October night, and I's almost done..."_

He frowned, and glanced upward, throwing his hand up to shade his eyes from the sudden glow of light.

"_And OUT of the sky it comes, the mother of all UFOs!"_

The young Clancy's mouth dropped open, his dark pupils expanding. From the northern sky appeared a silver dish shaped object with a flashing ring of lights around the edge, growing larger and larger as it approached Earth.

"_I couldn't believe it!"_

Young Clancy rubbed his eyes and gazed up again, blinking with awe. He jumped off of his tractor and ran forward to get a better look.

He scurried up the steep wheat hill, twenty feet to the right from the tree. The UFO was right above him.

"_And then out of nowhere comes this big ol' flash of light..._"

Halting him in shock mid-run, his body was bathed in a cylinder of light, shooting up two stories into the black sky. When he squinted and looked up, he could just make out the circular shape of the underside of the UFO, and the bright circle portal where the light was beaming down.

And then Clancy began to feel himself floating. Gravity disbanded, the younger would-be farmer was pulled from the ground, his body limp and weightless.

"_And I'm being sucked in by the light..."_

The young Clancy turned over upside down, scrambling to get back down as he was slowly raised in the air. His baseball cap popped off and began floating above his prematurely balding head, and surprised, he quickly reached back up and yanked it back on, grinning and giggling with embarrassment.

The cylinder's brightness soon intensified, and his body became a silhouette form before he and the light were rapidly sucked into the opening of the ship...

* * *

**Flashback End**

"The next thing I know," the janitor concluded, "I'm covered in suckers, getting poked and prodded in the ear and the rump by a bunch'a thee eyed martians, all named Steve. They were kind enough to drop me back off in my own bed, though—gotta give em' credit for that."

"Mm-hmm?" Madman asked with a roll of his eyes. "Clancy, is that story _true_?"

"Yep. As true as day."

"Hmm?" Madman asked with a raised eyebrow.

"'Course..." the janitor noted, "That was the summer I was takin' medicine for that eye infection..." He snapped back to the present with a furious shake of his head. "Point bein', I ain't messing with no robot with crazy alien whachamachalits on its chest!"

The principal growled. "Rrrrr, then just go back and man the main entrance!"

Pulling his mop to the side, Clancy jumped out from behind Madman and saluted him again. "I'm on it, chief!"

Watching Clancy bolt from the cafeteria, Madman balled his fists."If you want something done, you have to do it yourself." He hiked up his pants and sucked in his gut. "Come to my school and—humph!" he muttered and marched up behind Jack as he bent over to set the girls down on their feet. "Now excuse me, young man," he addressed over the robot's shoulder. "Young-"

Jack's back retracted straight and spun around, startling Madman with his height as his head spun around and nearly met him at eye level. Robot was frightening enough at times at just under four feet, but nothing scared Madman more than meeting a strange robot that stood over half of his own height.

"-man. Uh..."

"Hello," said Jack.

"Uh..." Madman blinked, "Hello."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Jack stuck out his hand. "I can determine by your height and attire that you are the headmaster at this institution."

"Uh... why yes," he smiled, taking Jack's hand for a firm handshake. "Yes I am. Er... Thank you for noticing. Principal Madman for you, son," he announced proudly.

"I have become acquainted with your students, and may I say," Jack cocked his eye-panel, "What a _fine _school you are running here."

"Ooo," Madman blushed, "Why, thank you." _I wish this one would talk to the board of supervisors—maybe they'd actually give me something._

Back at the loser table, the boys made perplexed faces, "What's he talking like a robot for all of the sudden?" Socks asked his mechanical friend in a whisper.

"I have no idea," Robot admitted nervously. _Dropping his contractions, adopting bigger words, _he thought suspiciously, _He's up to something. _

"My human operators have dubbed me Jack."

"Jack, is it?" Madman nodded. "And uh... how old are you, son?"

"Eighteen."

"_Eighteen_," the principal repeated, sounding impressed. "So that would've make you a... what... a high school graduate, if you were... well..."

"Actually, I have already received my GED from Fugi Academy."

"You don't say," Madman's amazed, open mouth grin spread across his face.

"Yes sir," Jack nodded.

The principal tossed his head back and laughed. "Excellent!"

He threw his arms around the robot's shoulder and chuckled, while at the next table, Robot scowled._ So I was on to him! The kiss-up! What unit with any dignity could act so phony for the sake of a human? And for a man like Madman to boot!_

Robot knew of units like this, who did or said anything to please humans—they were quite common. But they were usually a lower class of robots, who were built for the sole purpose of serving humans. In those cases, Robot almost couldn't blame them—those robots just didn't know any better. Their brains were small, and in some cases, they were actually programmed to _fear_ human authority.

But a unit like Jack had no excuse.

Robot respected good manners when he saw it, but the older robot's bragging about his high school diploma to Madman was pathetic and dishonorable. He believed a robot as smart as Jack claimed he was shouldn't have to stoop to mentioning his accomplishments—or his age, for that matter—in a social setting to impress humans. Boastful robots were appalling. As unsteady as his self-esteem was, Robot didn't believe there was a human on earth so powerful that he felt he needed to prove himself to.

"I just love the educated young mind," the heavyset principal grinned at his new robotic companion.

"Uh, Principal Madman, sir..." a tiny, wimpy voice called out.

"Wha—oh," he glanced down and saw an assistant bookstore keeper with soft blond hair, an orange shirt and white pants. "What is it, now, Jimmy?"

"The bookstore door is jammed, and Mrs. Hanson can't open it."

"What do I look like?" Madman let go of Jack and pointed to himself. "A handy man?"

"She were wondering if you knew where the WD-40 is."

"How should I know?" Madman asked with aggravation. "Go find Clancy—that's his job!"

As the little shy blond kid scurried off, two of the lunch room security monitors approached the troubled principal.

"First the freezer door breaks off," Madman complained, "Now this?"

"That door's been stuck for two days," one of the other adults told him, "If we can't get in soon, we might have to get Clancy and some other guys to rip it apart."

"Then we'd have to put in a new one," the other monitor said.

"The school board won't fork over the money for that! Ogh!" the principal squeezed the tip of his nose. "What am I going to do?"

"If I may, sir," Jack held up his finger, "I believe I can help."

"What?" Madman asked as he watched Jack wander over to the back end of the cafeteria and approached a huge, silver garage-style door behind two pillars.

"This one?" Jack asked, pointing with his thumb.

Madman exchanged curious expression with the lunchroom monitors before he turned back to him and nodded.

Bending down, the tall automaton grasped the metallic door by the bottom, fingers underneath, but just as it appeared to Madman and other scared onlookers that he was going to force the door crushing upward with his incredible robotic strength, he glanced to the side and let go. Jack walked to the top corner, in between the door and the walls, and began tinkering away at the mechanisms with his fingers.

A curious hush feel over that side of the lunchroom as the navy colored automaton picked away at the gears that rolled the door up and down. Even Robot looked puzzled as he watched Jack work.

After just over a minute, the tall automaton stepped back and dropped his arms, and again bend down and grabbed the bottom of the door. With not an once of effort, the metal door began rumbling upward, retracting into its hold in the ceiling and unleashing the brilliant light from the bookstore's side window into the cafeteria.

"Whoa," Robot and his human comrades exclaimed.

Applause, as well as a few whistles, rang out across the cafeteria as Jack safely secured the door open for the bookstore keeper, and returned to the principal's side.

"Now that was an impressive feat!" he commented.

"Naw," Jack shook his head, "It's just basic mechanics."

"Ah, yes..." Madman leaned in close to the automaton and whispered, "Hey, Jack..." He glanced warily back and forth, then brought his hand up to his mouth, "You don't suppose that you could use that little trick of yours to help me made a little... 'covert withdraw' from the candy machine down the hall, do you?"

The robot smirked. "Oh, you mean with my-" Jack popped the key from his index finger again, causing Madman to smile with delight, "-Master key?"

Overhearing the conversation, a short boy with shaggy brown hair and a blue polo t-shirt turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey!" he shouted loud enough for most of the cafeteria to hear over the chatter. "The new robot's giving out free Coco-Nutties!"

Instantly, cheers filled the air. Kids rocketed out of there seats and scrambled after Jack on his way to the vending machines.

"Well, Mr. Jones," Madman said, dawning his cocky smile, "It appears I've rushed to conclusions. It seems not everyone of your kin is a mindless, destructive robotic menace after all."

"But Jack isn't part of..."

But the principal merrily skipped off, following the procession of students out of the cafeteria, tossing notebook paper confetti and chanting the new robot's name. "Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack..."

Left alone Robot's face slumped, his voice dropping to a defeated wisp. "... my family."

And just when he thought all was still, a short boy blew his kazoo right near Robot's sensitive antenna. "_T-o-o-o-o-o-o-t!_"

* * *

_**Ahh... I like Clancy. He helps set a chemistry balance with the characters at the school. **_

_**I know, I need to work on my jokes. **_

_**Chapter 4 up in two shakes. **_

_**Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? (c) Greg Miller and Cartoon Network  
**_


End file.
